The Book of Beasts Chapter Two: The Mysteries of Rookwood In which missing persons and missing objects are much discussed.     The thin drizzle that drenched the grounds and turned the farm fields black-brown seemed appropriate for Valden and Annwyn’s return to Rookwood. Even though the weather was poor some of the peasants and serfs were still diligently pressing on with their day’s tasks. It was better to be wet and be able to eat.     Any hope that Jethro’s children might have had that reports of his death were a lie were dashed when the first farmer they saw called over to them. “Valden! Annwyn! I’m so sorry about your father!”     The story was well known round the village, and half a dozen people had repeated it before the travellers even reached Rookwood proper. Jethro the Scholar had been walking in the woods and had been savaged by a wolf. Most of the people in the village had been there when Father Lukas has buried him yesterday.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It’s a shame you couldn’t have been back in time,” a goodwife remarked as she fed her chickens. “Everyone came, and Father Lukas spoke so nicely. A right good do.”     The early burial was customary now the frosts had mostly passed.     Valden and Annwyn rode through the main and only street of the village, over the stream, past the merchant’s house, along the row of tradesmen’s hovels. Above them the ground rose a little to the church and graveyard. Beyond that was the wood-fenced manor of Thane Edris.     Rookwood wasn’t a large village. The parish had no more than two hundred and thirty souls, including the forty or so people that occupied the Thane’s estate. Everyone knew Jethro’s children, had known them since they came here when Valden was but a babe in arms. The villagers condolences were sincere and repetitive.     But nobody knew the details.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“We’ll see that the house is safe,” Valden decided. “Then I’ll speak to Father Lukas before we see the Thane.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“We need to find Moranna,” his sister insisted. “I’m worried what might have happened to her. Truro and Londis seemed to know about her.”     Valden nodded and loosed his sword in its scabbard. They tethered the horses outside the modest wooden house at the edge of the church field, the place where Annwyn and Valden had lived most of their young lives. It seemed smaller and gloomier now under the wet grey sky. Rain dripped from the thatch.     Valden lifted the latch and slipped inside. Annwyn followed him gripping a quarterstaff.     Everything seemed in order. Somebody had closed the shutters so the house was dark. Only a few chinks of light played across the room, making the dust sparkle.     Valden wiped his finger across a chair back and studied the dirt. “Couple of days since anyone cleaned,” he judged. “Let me look around the rest of this place.”     Annwyn went with him. It was better than standing alone in the too-silent home.     Jethro’s house was one of the largest and best built in Rookwood. It had two stories, the three bedrooms running under the thatched eaves above a long work and living room. The south end of the ground floor was portioned to create Jethro’s study, lined with shelves. The scholar owned nearly fifty books. An annex to the north contained a small cramped kitchen.     Valden found nobody. The house did not seem to have been disturbed.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I don’t believe it,” Annwyn considered. “Those two men, Truro and Londis, they were searching for something. A book or scroll or paper. They thought I must have it. I’m surprised they didn’t search here.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Maybe they did,” Jethro answered darkly. He leaned down beside a heavy wooden chest and pulled the fragments of a broken hourglass from behind it. “Maybe they just concealed their efforts.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“We need to check around,” Annwyn decided, “see if anything’s missing.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You do that,” agreed Jethro. “I’ll see Father Lukas. Bolt the door while I’m gone.”     He left the house, waited until he heard Annwyn slam the shaft home to lock herself in, then vaulted over the churchyard wall and made for the parish chapel. ***     Ã¢â‚¬Å“A sad, sad business,” mourned Father Lukas. Jethro had found him in the darkness of the sanctuary, tripping tapers on the lamps that burned there day and night. “I’m sorry for you, Valden. Your father was a good man. A great man. I said so at his graveside.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“People have mentioned how well you spoke of him,” the young ranger agreed. “What I’m hoping for is some detail about how he died. Who found him? What’s being done about the wolf?” He thought back to his own encounter two days before. Was Jethro’s wolf likewise already dead?     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It was poor Tom who discovered him,” the priest explained. “The lad had been bidden to take sheep to the oak meadow. His dog ran over and discovered the body.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Tom,” frowned Valden. The boy was not quite the village idiot, but he was slow. He was hardly the witness Valden would have preferred.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yes. He was quite upset, although he… he couldn’t identify the body just then. The wolf, you see…”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I see,” agreed the ranger. He’d seen wolf kills. He wished he’d been told sooner. After all this time and after many curious peasant investigations to the scene of the tragedy it would be useless to try and track the beast now.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Poor Tom ran to tell the Thane’s Steward, of course. Abandoned his sheep, even though a brighter wit might have guess that wasn’t a good idea with a predator about. Wikkold had something to say to him about that!”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Thane’s men were first on the scene, then?” asked Valden sharply. “After Tom the Idiot, I mean?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Thane himself came. A man dead on his land, of course he would. He was the one who recognised your father. He had him brought here.”     That prompted Valden. “And thank you for your ministrations, father. I saw the grave as I came in, and the stone. I’m grateful.” He reached for his purse.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Thane Edris has already covered those expenses,” Father Lukas assured him. “And he had his craftsmen make up a fine coffin. Jethro was his friend too.” The village priest managed a sad half-smile. “Although if you want to offer something to the poorbox it always stands ready.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“How certain was it wolf?” asked Valden. “Were there tracks? Other signs? What were the tear marks on my father like?”     Lukas shook his head. “Better to ask those questions of the men who brought him back,” he advised. “Ask Wikkold. Ask Artos. As the Thane himself.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I will,” promised Valden. ***     Annwyn checked her father’s desk. It was cluttered with scrolls and papers as usual, stacked with four books in Greek and Aramaic. Annwyn could manage the Greek but she had yet to master more than the rudiments of the tongue of the latter Hebrews. There was a fresh pot of black ink and three new-gut goose quills. There were two chalkboards but anything on them had been wiped clean.     Annwyn called upon her minor blessings again, to see if there was any sign of necromancy here. Nothing screamed warning to her as she concentrated, but she was drawn to the inkpot. She realised that this must be some of the special pigment that Jethro made for scrolls of magical virtue. She determined to take it with her when she left. Her eye also fell on a dried herb hanging by the window. It didn’t seem to be magical; if anything it seemed to be the opposite, sucking in even the minor magics of her detection miracle. She bagged the dried grasses for later consideration.     As usual there was a part-finished manuscript on Jethro’s drawing board. This one was so far only a colourful capital, an A, followed by ppo. The scholar’s daughter wracked her brains for words which might begin like that. Apposite? The border was a Celtic knot design that Jethro favoured for his fancy work. Had favoured.     She flicked open his accounts book to see who he’d been working for. The latest entry was a receipt of ten shillings on account from one Dame Serewith.     Annwyn quickly scampered into the kitchen to check the hidden flagstone where her father hid his money. It was empty. The dust had been newly-smeared around the bottom of the hole.     So there had been a search, and a theft. But what else was gone apart from Jethro’s savings?     A floorboard creaked above Annwyn, and the girl froze. She knew the house, it’s familiar sounds. That was the sound of someone moving quietly upstairs.     But she had searched the house.     Annwyn picked up her staff again and moved quietly to the ladder. She thought of calling out but decided that would be a bad idea. Instead she tucked in her skirts and climbed to the upper floor.     The roof was low here, under the eaves. The tiny windows were shuttered, making it hard to see. Where chinks of light did penetrate through knots in the wooden slats they only served to ruin night vision.     Annwyn carefully checked the three partitions: her own sleeping cupboard, then Valden’s, and finally Jethro’s bedroom. There was nobody there.     And yet…     When she had been a child there had been a hidey-hole, behind the panelling that squared off the corridor where the sloping roof became to low to walk. The end panel was loose. She and Moranna had stowed secret childhood treasures behind it.     The more she thought about it, the more Annwyn became convinced that someone was hiding in that very spot. Someone or something.     She tiptoed over to the panel. She struck it hard with her staff. “Come out!” she commanded. “Now!”     The board shifted. A timid voice spoke. “A-annwyn?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Moranna? Is that you in there?” The younger woman uncurled herself from the tiny space. Her tangled brown hair fell in thick gypsy ringlets over her tear-streaked face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wide. “I didn’t know it was you!” the family servant explained. “I thought it was those men coming back!” ***     Valden returned to find Moranna in the kitchen, being fed by his sister from the provisions in their saddlebags. The tinker’s girl was wolfing down the bread and meat as if she hadn’t eaten for two days – because she hadn’t.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“There was no food,” she explained. “The men took it. I didn’t dare go out to look for more. I hid as much as I could.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“What men?” Annwyn demanded. “The Thane’s men?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Thane was here, yes,” agreed Moranna. “They came and said that the master was dead.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Two days ago?” Annwyn checked.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yes. I was just about to start the laundry. Two men came with the news and said the Thane wanted them to bring the master’s valuable papers up to the manor for safe-keeping. They asked where Valden was but I didn’t know.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Did they hurt you?” Valden demanded, frowning. He’d seen the shadow of a bruise round the servant’s eye.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“They just frightened me then,” Moranna replied. “The big one was a brute, with hard bony fists. But the little one had cruel eyes.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I think I might know them,” said Annwyn. “Go on.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Then Thane himself came, and his sons. Thane looked through the papers and books in master’s study, but he only took one away with him.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“What book?” demanded Valden.     Moranna could neither read not write. “Couldn’t see. He wrapped it in a cloth. He said it was too valuable to leave unattended.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“So Truro and Londis do work for Thane Edris,” frowned Annwyn.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Thane didn’t stay long after he found the book. He and Artos and Richard went back up to the manor. Those two brutes stayed behind, though. They said they had questions for me.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“What questions did they ask?” Valden enquired. “It could be important, Moranna.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“They asked where the master kept his hidden things,” the girl replied. “His gold and his treasures. I said I didn’t know. That’s when they hit me.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I am going to meet those two one day,” promised Valden.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“So I told them about the stash under the hay at the back of the barn,” Moranna went on. “And they went to get it.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“There is no stash in the barn,” puzzled Annwyn. Then she caught on. “Ah.”     Moranna nodded. A little smile crossed her face for the first time. “I’m really good at acting frightened. They were quite sure I’d caved and blabbed, dumb little peasant wench that I am. And while they were gone I ran to the kitchen, took the things from under the slab, then raced upstairs to our old hidey-hole.” She flexed her arms. “I’m sure it used to be bigger.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Well done,” Valden congratulated her. “You were right to run and hide.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“And with father’s purse as well,” Annwyn added. “And whatever else he’d tucked away for safety.”     Moranna took them upstairs to retrieve the treasures from the cupboard. “I was terrified they’d search up here,” she admitted, “but I forced one of the kitchen shutters to look as if I’d got away through that.”     Annwyn examined the strange little collection of things that Jethro had considered worth concealing. There were an assortment of bottles and jars, each carefully labelled in the scribe’s copperplate script; a small bundle of arrows rolled in a red cloth; a tiny bag containing nine moonstones; five scrolls rolled in a bone case; and one tiny seed pearl in a black velvet pocket.     There was nothing that immediately explained necromancers or undead monsters, or even the strange behaviour of the Thane and his lackeys.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“So what do we do now?” wondered Valden, staring at the things strewn across the kitchen table, trying to make sense of what was going on.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Thane wanted to see me,” Annwyn pointed out, gathering the things to take with her. “Let’s go see the Thane.” ***     Artos Thaneson rode up to Jethro’s house, noting his father’s horses tethered outside. He swung down from the saddle, landing with a confident ease, adjusted his rich blue cloak over his new-won chainmail, ran a tongue over his teeth to make sure they were clean, and strode to the door.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Open up!” he shouted as his gloved fist hammered at the wood. “Annwyn! Open up! It’s me!”     There was the sound of a bolt scraping back and Jethro’s daughter answered his call. “Hello, Artos.”     Artus Thaneson smiled. A year in convent had done wonders for Annwyn’s budding figure and smooth complexion. “I heard you were back,” he declared. “Father wants me to bring you to him.”     Annwyn nodded. “We were just about to come and see Thane Edris,” she agreed. “We need to talk to him.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“We?” Artos frowned.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yes, we,” agreed Valden, appearing behind the Thane’s heir unexpectedly. Jethro’s son had grown in the year he’d been gone as well. “You remember me, do you?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I remember you,” Artos said, keeping a fair countenance since Annwyn was watching. “So you heard the news.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I heard. That’s why we want to talk to your father. To your father,” Valden emphasised.     Artus and Valden glared at each other.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Boys,” muttered Annwyn. She turned to where Moranna had taken refuge in the shadows. “Come with us,” she whispered. “You can’t hide out here forever.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“What about the running-away to Conisborough option?” the maid asked. “You might want to consider it, rather than going to Artos’ house.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Artos’ house is where the answers are.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“How about not getting answers and staying safe? I hear York is nice. Or London. The streets there are paved with gold.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Come with me,” Annwyn asked her old playmate. “I could use a companion.” She glanced at where Valden and Artos were glaring at each other. “I could really use a companion.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It’s very dangerous and stupid,” Moranna objected. “I’ll go get my things.” ***     Thane Edris was a man of middle years, perhaps past his fighting best but still hale and hardy. His hair was laced with silver like a frost amongst the brown. His beard was longer than Annwyn remembered it.     He rose from his chair on the platform at the end of his long hall when Jethro’s children entered his manor, brushing aside the daily business that his steward Wikkold was running past him and coming to embrace his friend’s daughter. “Annwyn! How you’ve grown. Such a beauty now. And Valden too, almost a man! Those rangers know how to hone a warrior, I’ll say that for them.”     Annwyn submitted to the Thane’s hug. Artos looked a little annoyed that he’d not thought of it. The Thane’s other son, Richard, hefted a rack of venison off his shoulders and came over to add his greetings.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Sorry about your father, Valden,” he said, clasping the ranger’s wrist and shaking his hand. “But I guess that’s what everybody’s been saying.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Nearly everyone,” Valden admitted, glancing over at Richard’s older brother.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Oh, not still that,” sighed Richard Thaneson. “I thought the passing of seasons would have quietened that grudge. Artos had every right to defend himself when you attacked.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“And every right to beat a serf boy on his property,” Valden answered gruffly. “But a bully’s a bully so I still tried to stop him. There’s rights and then there’s right.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You know Artos,” Richard said. “He has a temper, can’t help it.”     The object of the conversation somehow worked out that his younger brother and Valden were talking about him, “Remembering the beating I gave you?” he enquired, stalking over to join them. “Good times.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Wondering how much difference a year’s ranger training might make,” Valden replied. “Next time.”     Artus pressed his face in close to Valden. “I’m knighted now,” Artos warned him. “Next time it won’t be boys brawling. Cross me again and we fight as men.”     Moranna watched the situation cautiously, trying to blend into the background as much as possible. The village girls had learned not to come to Artos’ attention, but if it came to a fight between her Thane’s son and Valden she carried four concealed knives that would get to know Artos’ back.     Thane Edris seemed oblivious to the undercurrents running through the hall. He shepherded Annwyn and Valden into the solar, leaving Artos to order Richard to bring in the visitors’ bags and see their horses stabled. Moranna helped out, staying close to Richard until she could reach the safety of the kitchens.     There was servants gossip she needed to hear.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m sorry about your father,” Edris told Annwyn and Valden, the familiar liturgy. It might well be true. Jethro and the Thane had often met together in the evenings to share a cup of wine and talk about life. There were few people in the manor of Rookwood for its Thane to associate with as near-equals, and Jethro was well-travelled and had once dwelled in the house of the Earl.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m sorry we missed the funeral,” Annwyn replied. “Word came too late.”     The Thane nodded. “Spring’s upon us, and it doesn’t do to leave a body for long. I made sure the thing was done properly.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“And when word came, it came in a most unusual manner,” Annwyn continued. “Those men you sent, Truro and Londis, they work for you?”     The Thane looked puzzled. “Yes they do. But I don’t know where they’ve got to. They were supposed to return with you the day before yesterday. I’m told you returned instead with young Valden here, riding their horses.”     Valden cut in. “So these men had no orders to, say, drug my sister and sell her to Saxon slavery?”     Edris frowned. “Of course not. What are you saying?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It’s true,” Annwyn confirmed. “They offered me poisoned wine, intending to search my belongings and my person for some document or documents they thought my father might have sent to me. They were very candid about their intentions once they thought me asleep.”     Edric’s frown deepened. “Surely you were mistaken. An inexperienced girl…”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It was no misunderstanding,” Annwyn insisted. “I’ve brought the flask with me if you want to try some.”     The Thane’s steward, Wikkold, had somehow slipped into the room with his master. “My lord, the men Truro and Londis have not been seen since they were discharged to St Brigit’s. They have not been long in service here – they were hired to replace the guards that deserted when the snows melted three weeks since.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Why send your newest guards to fetch my sister?” demanded Valden. “Why not somebody she knew?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Those two said they knew the way to the convent,” Wikkold explained. “They volunteered.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“My father died in the woods,” Valden continued his inquisition. “I spoke to poor Tom, who found him. The boy ran to you, Wikkold. You and Thane Edris dealt with the body.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yes,” agreed the steward. “It was badly savaged so we had it boxed as soon as we might.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“What made you conclude it was a wolf? Were there tracks? Prints?”     The steward snorted. “You may have had a year with the rangers, lad, but I’ve run these estates for my lord for thirteen years. I know the work of a wolf when I see it. The way the jaws tear, the way the flesh comes away.” He glanced at Annwyn. “I’m sorry to discuss these things like this,” he apologised, realising he’d spoken to candidly.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m trained in medicine, Master Wikkold,” the girl replied.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Have you tracked the beast?” demanded Valden. “Who’s hunting it?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“We have men spread out all along the ridge,” the steward replied. “That’s one reason I was happy that Truro volunteered to fetch Mistress Annwyn, we were that short-handed. But so far there’s no word.”     There was no sensible way for Valden to ask if the wolf had been alive, so he didn’t.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You had a special interest in my father’s papers,” Annwyn said to the Thane, pushing the enquiry on. “Why?”     Thane Edris blinked, seeming confused by the question for a moment. “Why? Jethro asked me to, that’s why. He once confided that he keeps documents – kept documents – in his house, dangerous writings. He said if anything ever happened to him, especially if he died suddenly before his time, that I should secure those documents and hold them safe.”     Annwyn thought of the books still on the shelves of Jethro’s study. Three sturdy bound grimoires of spells sat in plain view amongst the volumes of Latin and Greek and Hebrew and Aramaic and Persian. Of course, untutored Thane Edris might not think to search for a treasure in plain view. She remembered the scrolls tucked in their case in the pouch on her hip, the things that Moranna had spirited from the hidden flagstone before Truro and Londis had found them. Yes, it was just possible that her father had once made such a request of his old friend and neighbour.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You took a book away, Moranna told us. For safe-keeping.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yes,” agreed the Thane. “It’s safely locked away in my strongroom. I’ll keep it safe for you until you need it.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’d like to see it now,” Annwyn said. “I’m not sure what volume we are speaking of.”     The Thane indicated to Wikkold that he should fetch the book. “This has all been a terrible shock for you, of course,” he told Jethro’s children. “But your father was my friend and I shall see you both well bestowed. I’ll cover whatever fee the rangers ask for continuing your apprenticeship, Valden. Your sister will stay here in the manor. She can’t live alone in Jethro’s house.”     Annwyn opened her mouth to object then closed it again. This wasn’t the time to argue.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You can help look after Rowen,” the Thane suggested, referring to his only daughter, a spoiled bratty eight year old. “Lord knows we need the help. You’ll be a guest of the house, until we can arrange a good match for you.”     Annwyn wondered what kind of match that might be. Surely Artus’ interest in her wasn’t matrimonial? She wasn’t important enough to wife a Thane’s heir.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“We’ve travelled a long way,” she said diplomatically. “We’ll accept your kind hospitality tonight, my lord, and tomorrow we’ll lay flowers and say prayers at father’s grave. And then we’ll see about the future.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Very wise,” agreed Thane Edris. “We’ll have one of the gallery rooms prepared for you, Annwyn. Valdis is welcome to sleep in the hall with the men. That gypsy girl of yours can bed in the kitchen if you’re intending to keep her.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“She’s been with us for a long time,” Valden said. “Her parents worked for father until they died.” Tybold and Mary had travelled far and wide finding books for Jethro the scholar.     Wikkold returned hefting a heavy black book in his arms. It was shod with metal and had thick rough-cut pages. It must have been a hundred years old.     Annwyn opened it in his arms. “A gospel of Matthew,” she recognised. “Rather nice, although it’s been kept in the damp somewhere.” She flicked to the front. “The title page is missing, torn out. There’s no way of knowing who this originally belonged to.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It must be valuable,” the Thane said. “It’s Valden’s now, of course.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Keep it safe for me,” the young inheritor asked. “While I think.” ***     Ã¢â‚¬Å“That’s not the book the Thane took away,” Annwyn declared.     She and Valden were making themselves busy in the courtyard outside the wooden manor. A thick high fence protected this area from raiders and formed a sanctuary for the villagers of Rookwood in time of war. As the sun set it was a bustle of activity as the smithy closed its shutters, the animals were brought to pen, the laundry was gathered in.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Why would the Thane lie?” puzzled Valden. “And how would he have another book just lying around to show us? He’s not exactly a big thinker, is he?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“He’d have his family gospel,” suggested Annwyn. “With the front page torn away so there was no inscription, no family tree, it would do very nicely.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You’re very suspicious,” noted Moranna, who had just joined them after completing her chores around the compound. “I like that. You should be.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“What did you find out?” Valden asked. “The Thane mentioned some men deserting.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Three men and two women,” Moranna detailed. “Perhaps three weeks back, right after the spring thaw. The romantics are thinking elopements. The cynics suspect adultery and murder. Two guards, two serving maids, and the carpenter’s apprentice.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“All at once?” asked Annwyn. “That was quite an elopement or adultery.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Thane and Artos went to Conisborough and hired a bunch of new men, seven of them, including those two that beat me. Pigs.”     Valden hissed in frustration. “I don’t like this. We told you what happened in Bedegraine, Moranna. There’s more to this than anyone can see. We’re missing something.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“A lot of people think the missing soldiers must have stolen something from the Thane,” Moranna continued. “Since then he’s made a rule that Wikkold or another senior servant has to go with them with people into the meat and wine cellars to fetch stuff up. It’s causing quite a disruption.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“That is unusual,” judged Annwyn. “If only there was some way to get down there and look around.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I was there an hour since,” Moranna grinned mischievously. “Fetching corn and butter. The cook escorted me.”     Valden had to laugh along with the wild girl. “And…?” He knew that expression of old. He’d missed it.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“And there’s a door concealed behind a rack of small beer,” Moranna noted. “Quite a nice job, I thought. I expect that’s where the Thane conceals that part of his treasury that he doesn’t want the Earl’s tax men to know about.”     Annwyn joined in the laughter. “Where did you pick up such bad habits of poking into other people’s business, girl?” she demanded.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Picking up things is how a tinker survives,” Moranna shrugged. “So are we going to take a look in that cellar tonight?”     Valden and Annwyn exchanged glances. “I don’t see we have nay choice,” Annwyn agreed.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Something’s wrong here,” Valden added. “I don’t know what yet, but there is. If that’s the way to find out, then that’s what we’ll do.” He looked to where the sun had just vanished over the western wall. “I’ll come for you at midnight.” *** Copyright © 2008 reserved by Ian Watson. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

One mini mistake:
Shouldn't that be Valden and Annwyn?

...because I suspect great danger lurks behind that hidden door. I think the deserters got a peek inside, and were so terrified at what they saw, they quit and left.

This is very much in the style of the old short stories you wrote up for the MHC, with a touch of the Fall of Atlantis. Given the roots, I suppose that is not too much of a shock.

It sounds like a good game. Is it just Alex and Rhiannon playing?

.

Less action, more intrigue this chapter. While the first part read as more of a traditional gaming session (although far richer in backstory and detail than the games I remember playing), this one dips very deeply into mystery and really creates a dynamic world without any action to speak of.

I like the tension added by the differing social classes, and the dangers of interactions between them. Add a dark secret, mysterious cellars, missing servants and noblemen with unsavory dealings, and you get a rich and engaging story... I envy those who got to explore this world.

Looking forward to more!

Not a bad surmise. Have 5 experience points.

It's been more fun to write than I expected, but if I decide to finish it I've let myself in for an entire novel, at least sixteen chapters.


Yes. I didn't think it was fair to them or to my adult players to mix the two.

This is really an adaptation rather than a recounting of the game we're playing just now, although the events remain more or less the same. But I do like to give my player's characters good backstories to promote and provoke good roleplaying opportunities; pre-existing relationships is one way of doing it.

For those who want a shorthand character interaction solution for a new party of adventurers, just make a note on the player's character sheets that two of them previously dated a third.


I'm roughly basing the game-world on the Dark Ages, around AD 650. Conisborough Castle is about eight miles away from where we live (or it's ruins are, anyhow).

I quite like Moranna. She's a good non-player character in the game, and she's a fun write in the story because she gets to be a bit looser and wilder than the children of Jothan.


I'd quite like to write some.

Yes. It's corrected now. I told you it needed proofing.

But do you take notes as you play or did you do it all from memory? Considering how adamant your kids have been on deatails I assumed you were taking notes.

~Hat~

No, it was all spontaneous. I rarely do detailed notes these days, either before or after playing. I've DMed well over 2500 scenarios and I get a bit sloppy about preparations.

Okay, this is where the fact I haven't played D & D is maybe coming into play. You normally would write things out as a Dungeon Master? I know next to nothing about playing D & D.

But for writing out the campagin your kids are doing, you're doing all of it from memory? Considering the length and attention to detail the kids want I'm impressed.

~Hat~

Different game runners operate differently. In pre-prepared bought "modules" (adventures) there are usually full character descriptions and gaming stats for every villain and cast member, maps of areas, and descriptions of contents of rooms including trasures and clues. There are tables of random events and encounters so the DM can be as surprised as the players how a journey might work out; and so on.

Some DMs like to prepare in equally meticulous detail, with cards or sheets for all the main characters that the players will encounter, detailed plot diagrams etc.

The idea is to be prepared enough to respond to whatever the players decide their characters do. In a computer game there are always a limited number of options. Do you charge in through the front door or sneak in through the back door? In a live game the players might choose to go in through the roof, or set fire to the haystack next door as a diversion, or go somewhere else entirely. The DM has to be ready with what happens then.

I've sometimes written out roleplaying plots far more complex and complete than anything I've ever plotted for a text story; other times I just wing it and see what develops. In this scenario's case I had a broad idea of what the overall storyline was about - it'll be evident by the end of chapter four - a half-page list of things in Josiah's cottage and where they were now, and a list of thirteen words which cover the main plot points.

You'd probably enjoy roleplaying. It tends to appeal to problem-solvers and tactical thinkers.

I think I would, but I don't really have anyone out here to do so with. I haven't even been able to play the VS card game I used to play since I moved (I really should sell my cards before they're worthless).

Maybe in a chat one day we'll have to do a roleplaying game?

~Hat~

The mystery is moving along nicely. It sounds like the kids picked up a decent cache of scrolls, potions, and other magical gegaws to help them with their quest, plus useful thief NPC in Moranna (unless someone else is playing her in the story).

I'm curious to see if Jethro is in fact actually dead, or if someone else is buried in that grave.

Moranna is indeed a non-player character, and is therefore much more at risk.


And now I have to give you 5xp.

There are downsides to pursuing the love of your life.

> Maybe in a chat one day we'll have to do a roleplaying game?

If people wanted to try something a bit interactive I supose we could come up with a turn based story where the game-runner gives a narrative then the players descibe how their Legionnaire reacts to the situation - what they investigate, how they relate to people etc., and then the next turn we hear how that turns out and what happens next.

I ran something similar online a couple of times with my regular roleplaying group, covering a turn every three days or so, and it went pretty well until I ran out of time. There's an example scenario at The Case of the Awful Origami The player characters are described in The Monster Hunters Club Membership and Cast List .